


Fear

by SBlackmane



Series: Lion, 9:41 Dragon [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Advice, Chess, Developing Relationship, Dorian Pavus is a Good Friend, Implied Relationships, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Relationship Advice, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 06:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/pseuds/SBlackmane
Summary: What are you so afraid of, Cullen Rutherford?---Cullen discusses his feelings for Adaar with the Inquisition's Altus.





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry it's been so long in between ficlets for this series. But luckily inspiration struck today. Tagged for internalization because even though he's not homophobic per say, and is fine if other men are attracted to one another, but I realized a lot of Cullen's struggle in this series rather stems from those issues within himself.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

Cullen had a lot of time to contemplate his last conversation with the Inquisitor before he’d departed for the Emerald Graves. Indeed, time he most certainly had, as the days with him seemed to stretch endlessly. But in that time he’d come to understand what his problem was. His _fear_ had caused him to be angry and frustrated with himself, and Ataashi had misinterpreted Cullen’s anger. Thought it was directed at _him_, when it wasn’t. But it was what Cullen was afraid of that most concerned him, currently. Mostly that he had _no idea_ what he was so fucking afraid of.

_What are you so afraid of, Cullen Rutherford?_

He asked himself this question so many times a day it almost drove him just as mad as Lyrium ever did.

_What are you afraid of?_

He knew he wasn’t afraid of the Dragon. Ataashi’s magical flame was the least of his concerns. He’d never seen a mage have such precision and control. When he fought at Haven, he was magnificent, and no Circle mage could have cast their fire more efficiently. Despite the Anchor strengthening his already inherent connection to the Fade, he resisted temptation and corruption as easily as Cullen resisted Lyrium. Other than his most recent upsets, Ataashi was as calm and levelheaded as a man could be, and as a person, Cullen found he highly respected him.

_What are you afraid of?_

Cassandra placated his fear of what others would think of him, should he have romantic feelings for another man. He’d almost begun to wonder why he’d ever feared such a thing in the first place. How many times had he seen the Champion of Kirkwall ignore questions and comments about his relationship with another man and practically rub his romantic affair in everyone’s faces? Including Cullen’s when they were in Kirkwall? And how many times had he overheard Leliana and Josephine talking about the Spymaster’s affair with the Hero of Ferelden?

She and Leliana have been steadfast lovers for almost ten years now, and did it once influence anyone’s opinion of the Warden?

It certainly made no difference to him.

No. No, he shouldn’t care what people think either.

_What are you so afraid of?_

Ataashi’s size was intimidating, sure, but while they were wildly different in many ways, more so than the subtle differences between elves and humans, or the shortness in stature of dwarves, some things between them remained the same. It wasn’t the difference of appearance, when in fact, Cullen found that difference to be rather…_erotic_. So what was it then? Why did he balk at the idea of stripping down, climbing under the covers next the Inquisitor of Thedas, in his overly large Par Vollen bed with its optical illusion of being held together by two giant statuettes pulling massive chains?

_What are you so afraid of, Cullen Rutherford?_

He asked himself that many times, and it was right about the time he got to that point in the fantasy that he started to tense in fear. It wasn’t the thought of becoming intimate with another man that made him hesitate, but the intimacy itself that he feared. Thinking back on a previous conversation with the Seeker, it was the fear of being emasculated by another man that he always came back to. That, in a nutshell, was Cullen’s fear…_What are you so afraid of Cullen Rutherford?_…He was afraid of being intimate with Ataashi because it would somehow make him _less of a man_.

Would it?

What is there to be afraid of?

Why did this thought keep bouncing around in his head that he would somehow be less of a man if he slept with the Inquisition’s Dragon? He’d spent enough time fantasizing about it–in the dark of his quarters, in the dead of night–to not be nearly as terrified as he once would’ve have been. If he were to be honest–and provided Ataashi wasn’t a complete sadist–what Cullen envisioned might not be so terrible, and might even be pleasurable, but…Still he was afraid of it. Even though he wanted it. Maybe it was the _wanting_ it that he felt shouldn’t be allowed.

He shouldn’t want to be shoved down on a bed on his hands and knees, to be mercilessly fucked from behind by an eight foot tall Qunari...should he?

Or so that nagging voice in the back of Cullen’s mind kept telling him.

_…What are you afraid of?_

And if people saw them together, knew they were together, knew that Cullen was being manhandled by the Inquisitor on a daily basis, what would the men under his command think of him then? Perhaps he did still care what other people thought, after all. Granted, the scrutiny of onlookers was bound to happen, no matter the course of action, and Cullen knew this all too well…Still, he balked at what his soldiers would think of him. He was supposed to be their commanding officer, a figure of utmost esteem, perhaps only rivaled by that of the Inquisitor.

They should respect him.

_Fear him_.

And he couldn’t help but feel that if they learned this about him, he would be nothing but a joke. No one would ever take him seriously, and Maker only knew the things they might whisper behind his back. It would make the Iron Bull’s candid remarks sound like comments on the weather. Absolutely nothing compared to the ridicule he would face. All those doubts and insecurities arose whenever he considered these factors. And the end result was a nagging voice in his head far worse than that of Lyrium. For he’d no one to blame for it but himself.

_…What are you afraid of?_

* * *

In the days the Inquisitor trekked across Orlais, Cullen struggled to do anything but think about him, the whole time he was away. He was their leader, so it was rather difficult to keep Ataashi Adaar from influencing his decision making somehow. But without Cassandra at Skyhold, as she, Varric, and Solas left with him, Cullen had no one he completely trusted to voice his concerns to. He wasn’t so sure he could with the other advisers. Other than meeting Leliana briefly during the Blight, they didn’t really know each other outside work. He had even less of a rapport with Josephine.

But he found plenty to do to distract himself instead, both from work and his obsession with Ataashi. Among those things was chess, one of his favorite pass times in his youth. Josephine had somehow acquired a chess set for the garden’s aesthetics, and by word of mouth he learned that Dorian liked to play, and that was inadvertently how he became friends with Dorian those last few weeks. He’d had his reservations about the mage in the beginning, given he’s from Tevinter, but just as he’d given Ataashi every opportunity to earn his trust, he extended that same opportunity to Dorian.

He proved to be both an entertaining opponent and an earnest friend, by the end of it. He was interesting to talk to. Not like discussing subjects such as spell casting with the Imperial Enchanter or the elven apostate, ne’er at all. Dorian had a unique perspective to offer. Though their opinions on many subjects may differ, he was engaging in conversation, and kept Cullen’s interest, despite their differences. But mostly, he was wicked good at chess. That made his afternoons challenging the mage to a friendly match more worthwhile, to be honest.

But having a mutual friend such as the Dragon of the Inquisition had its downsides. One afternoon, Dorian brought him up in conversation, and the conversation itself left Cullen quite baffled really, as he hadn’t expected it. He didn’t know what had brought it upon Dorian to ask, but as they were playing in the garden, quite suddenly he leaned back in his seat, rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger as if contemplating, then said, “So, rumor has it you and the Inquisitor had some sort of argument before he left.”

Then he leaned forward, moving a piece on the board before shifting back into that same position, all while remaining completely aloof on the exterior.

Dorian was the very last person he pictured talking to about his current problems with the Inquisitor, but in hindsight, perhaps he should’ve guessed. “A-Argument?” he sputtered, wrinkling his brow as if confused, though he knew precisely what the man was talking about. Dorian smirked a little.

“That was the impression I got at the tavern, when he decided to get piss drunk and bitch incessantly about you for almost an hour.”

“You were at the tavern?” Cullen asked, and Dorian nodded, still smirking, as if somewhat amused by the instance. “So you overheard?”

Again, Dorian nodded, then after Cullen made his move on the board, leaned in to check his piece, to Cullen’s utter frustration.

“Oh I heard everything,” Dorian told him, still smirking, as if the whole thing were comical.

Cullen smeared a hand across his reddened face. “I don’t know what the Inquisitor told you happened, but you’re misinformed. There’s nothing going on between us.”

“There isn’t?”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Are you so certain of that?”

No, he wasn’t sure about anything at all, but he really didn’t wish to discuss the finer points of a _private_ conversation with the Altus. Especially when it seemed the Inquisitor did it for him, in his drunken stupor. Maker only knows what sort of impression he left on everyone, when according to Bull it was mostly angry snippets of Qunlat, and drunken slurring. “The Inquisitor and I are only friends, and I can’t imagine what would make anyone think there’s some sort of romantic interest between us.”

“Oh but I didn’t say romantic. You did.”

Maker damn it all.

Cullen sighed. “We’re just friends.”

At that, Dorian chuckled, then suddenly switched tactics on him.

“Odd. The Inquisitor seemed to convey otherwise at the Herald’s Rest. You really shouldn’t toy with the poor man’s feelings like that, Commander. It’s terribly impolite, you know.”

And still, throughout all that Dorian smiled, as if he _knew_, as if he could see right through him.

Cullen rolled his eyes. “I’m not toying with him. At least I didn’t mean to. If that was the impression I left on him.”

“Oh no, it isn’t,” Dorian was quick to correct, shifting forward in his seat to eye the board as if planning his counter move. “In fact, he too swears otherwise.”

Cullen gaped at him for a moment. “Then what makes you think…”

Dorian’s grinned only widened. “Oh it’s obvious to anyone, Cullen. It isn’t hard to see the little game the two of you have been playing with one another for months now. Both of you have been dancing around your feelings for one another ever since Haven. Lots of people have been speculating on it for quite some time.”

Cullen blushed deeper in his embarrassment. He didn’t realize he’d been so paper thin. That _obvious_ to anyone. He busied himself with picking at his glove for a moment, trying to think of what to say. Maker’s breath, discussing his feelings for the Inquisitor with anyone, much less Dorian Pavus, was the very _last_ thing he’d planned on doing that day. But he was tempted. Just for the sake of having someone to voice his thoughts aloud to, he considered talking to Dorian about it. It was evident he already knew how Cullen felt for the Inquisitor.

Apparently _everyone_ knew.

“I…suppose we _have_ been dancing around the subject, haven’t we,” he finally admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, unable to look at Dorian anymore, simply keeping his eyes glued to the table, and Dorian nodded a little.

“You have, Commander. So what is it then, hmm? Why all the fuss? I wouldn’t think a man like you even capable of playing games with anyone. Other than chess, of course.”

“I’m…I’m not meaning to,” he mumbled quietly, feeling ashamed of himself. “I don’t…I’ve never…” He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m not entirely sure if it’s a good idea.”

“Why, because he’s the Inquisitor?”

“No, it’s not that. Well, that’s part of it, but that’s…that’s not the heart of the issue.”

“What is it then, Cullen? Your religion, your reputation? Is it because he’s not human? An apostate mage? What? I’m awfully curious, and you can’t leave me hanging. We’ve all been dying to know.”

“No, none of that.”

“Then what?”

Dorian persistent questions grated on Cullen’s nerves at this point, and it was taking everything in him to remain calm. But at Dorian’s final question he was reeling.

“What are you so frightened of, Commander?”

_What are you afraid of?_

Once more the question he’d been asking himself for days now tugged at his mind and he couldn’t take it anymore. He was about to excuse himself from the table when suddenly Dorian got serious. More serious than he’d ever seen the man insofar. Even when they planned to infiltrate the Arl’s castle in Redcliffe and attempt to seize control of the southern mages from Alexius, he’d never seen Dorian so serious. He leaned back in his seat again, folding both arms across his chest and took a moment to choose his next words much more carefully.

“You should know something about me, Commander,” he said quietly, keeping his tone even. Perhaps even gentle, for Dorian’s standards. “I am a man that likes to keep his private affairs true to every sense of the word. Which means I understand one’s need for discretion at times, and I’m very good at keeping secrets, you know. And where it concerns two people I happen to consider very dear friends, I promise, I won’t breathe a word of it, Cullen, should you choose to tell me.” Cullen studied him when he said that, and saw that he was being sincere. He meant it.

Cullen sucked in a breath and let it out in another sigh, finally spilling his guts on the matter, rather harshly, even for his standards, but he was way past the point of caring. “What would people think of me?!” he blurted out in a hushed whisper, flabbergasted, and thankfully no one at the far end of the garden was even paying attention. “The Commander of the Inquisition flat on his back, legs spread for an eight foot tall Qunari mage?” he then spat vehemently, surprised by his own vulgarity for a second, but he pressed on. “You want to know what it is? It’s _all_ of it! Every _bit_ of it.”

He felt exhausted after releasing all that, and buried his face in his hand for a moment, while across from him Dorian sighed. But his next words served to surprise him. “You know, I find myself faced with a similar dilemma whenever I hear comments from a certain eight foot tall Qunari _spy_.” Cullen opened his eyes and stared up at Dorian when he heard that curious statement. One that changed his perspective. “The bane of my people’s existence, you see. Everything a man like me is taught to despise. And yet, in spite of it, I ask myself the very same questions. For the very same reasons.”

“About the Iron Bull?” Cullen asked, and Dorian smiled a little, but he made no other indication.

He did, however, give Cullen probably the best advice he could have ever hoped to receive, regarding the current topic.

“People are going to judge you no matter which course of action you take, Commander. You know this better than anyone, I imagine. I suppose it is merely a matter of what sort of man you wish to be. The Commander of the Inquisition that spends all his spare moments with the Inquisition’s Dragon, or the insufferable bigot who missed out on an opportunity because he allowed his own fears and insecurities to block his path.” He leaned forward, moving a piece on the board, winning the game. “Could always be worse. You could still be stuck playing Meredith’s mabari back in Kirkwall.”

Cullen bristled a little at the Knight-Commander’s mention. “You spoke to Varric, didn’t you?”

“I did, yes. Had a drink, heard some talk. He’s really quite proud you at least stood up to her in the end.”

Cullen flopped back in his chair, and meanwhile Dorian was smirking at him again.

Finally he sighed.

Really, what _was_ there to be so afraid of?

Perhaps Dorian was right.

“Another round then?”

“Certainly. Prepare the board, Commander.”

For the first time in quite a long time, Cullen found himself smiling a little. He still asked himself that same question, but for a different reason, and it carried a much different intonation this time around. One of disbelief. _Really, Cullen…_

_What are you so afraid of?_


End file.
